


End Battle

by darkmagenta



Category: The Fades, Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canadian Women's National Soccer Team, Gen, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-06-03 02:01:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6592177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkmagenta/pseuds/darkmagenta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. </p><p>" Gravel grinds against her bare soles when she hobbles closer.  It doesn’t feel real. Screams and sweat, tears, kicks flying, desperation, it has all interrupted into this – silence."</p>
            </blockquote>





	End Battle

**Author's Note:**

> This an old fic, written back in 2012 and originally posted to Livejournal. I wrote this when I was caught up in BBC series The Fades and the universe is loosely based on that, even though you can't really tell.

_Erin. Erin. Erin. Erin._ The name is a beat on constant replay.

An erratic rhythm originating from a cut on her forearm is what keeps her breathing. The heat of the moment has transformed into perspiration gliding down her back, adding further to the burning pain. Gravel grinds against her bare soles when she hobbles closer. It doesn’t feel real. Screams and sweat, tears, kicks flying, desperation, it has all interrupted into this – silence.

“Sincy!” Karina emerges from the shadows and grabs her light jacket with both hands, gripping her with unexpected intensity. “Don’t go there; we need to call the police, to calm down, to...”

She doesn’t finish her sentence, just shakes her head. It’s hard to tell from her voice if that was meant as an advice or a warning. She brings a scent of musk and lemon when she steps closer, way over the line that marks her comfort zone.

“There’s nothing more you can do.”

Anger rides on top of the adrenaline still pumping. The hastily reinforced tension is almost painful. She clenches her fists when Karina doesn’t let go of her, wriggling to get her to release her grip of her jacket but Karina holds still.

“Hey, listen to me. Listen. There’s nothing more you can do. Sit down and we’ll have a look at your back, you’re bleeding through –“

Christine jerks back hard as soon as she senses the slightest relaxation in the grip. She staggers a few meters, convinced she is going to stop her, but no hand touches her shoulder and there are no footsteps behind to be heard. Diana’s face is not pale, it’s grey, a light color not too far from the rock she’s resting her upper body on. Dark red blood has tangled up her hair, uniting it with her fingers that still protect her ears. She’s got a bloodstain shaped like a cow on her grey Umbro hoodie and why the hell is she thinking about that now? There are smaller drips of blood in shifting shades of red and brown trailing towards her stomach but she can’t see where they’re emerging from. Nothing in her dark eyes indicates recognition. Instead it’s the steady clapper of teeth that speaks of life.

Emotions are clawing at her throat but she can’t stop, can’t help, fuck, she can’t even speak - so she limps over to the other side road, out in the knee-long grass but this will stay with her, the unseeing eyes and guilt will haunt her nights.

_Erin._

She’s on her back; her hands still on her stomach where Christine let go of them. Luckily she’s wearing a black t-shirt and Christine can pretend the wetness under her ribs is something else, water maybe. At least until she sees the redness flowing over the grass. This time, a hand strokes back stray ends of her hair when she’s vomiting. She can’t decide if it’s oddly cold against her forehead or if it is in fact her forehead that is remarkably warm. The heavy odor of iron and predator doesn’t help end her convulsions. Christine wants to lay down in all this almost unnaturally saturated green, to disappear in the moist the fog is spreading over the ground as the night approaches ; but the answer surfaces directly - never. Instead she crawls closer. The increasing smell makes her lightheaded but it actually makes her feel something.

“It’s not your fault.”

Emily is suddenly beside her; maybe she’s been there a while – coming to think of it, it might even have been her hand against her forehead. They’re spoken in such a hollow voice that even Christine hears them. Hears them, and letting them pour out her other ear, to become drops of perspiration getting soaked into the ground. Her heart jumps when she places two fingers on Erin’s cold temple. She would like to hold her hands, but she’s afraid it will burn in the memories of this day forever. That she’ll never forget the way Erin’s hands cramped around her own while their strength faded in the same rhythm as the light in her eyes. _Erin_. _Erin_. _Erin_. She craves a hug but she knows she’ll hurt anyone that tries. An irrational fear hits her, a surrealistic idea that Erin will sit up, put on an unrecognizable grin with her teeth exposed and come after them, but she resists the thought with what she got left. It isn’t much, really, and a giggle escapes the net before she manages to tie the knot around it. Once out in the air, it sounds more like a sob.

 _Erin_. It’s a beat on constant replay.


End file.
